


You've begun to feel like home

by VeraKenwayWincherster



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin's Creed III, Assassin's Creed: Forsaken, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2300384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraKenwayWincherster/pseuds/VeraKenwayWincherster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fic where Haytham does not die after the battle, but reunites with his son and quits the Order.<br/>It takes place after Connor and Haytham's battle in Fort George, where Connor doesn't kill him but injures him badly enough to initiate a 2 weeks coma.</p><p> </p><p>It's my first fanfic, and English isn't my first language, so I'm really really sorry for any misspelled words!<br/>It includes characters that were mentioned in Assassin's Creed- Forsaken by Oliver Bowden, and not in the game- Haytham's mother, Jenny Kenway and  James Holden, but long story short: Jenny is Haytham's sister and Holden was the closest person Haytham had to a friend.<br/>To understand better the first paragraph (if you hadn't read Forsaken)- Haytham's mother died from an injury and James Holden hanged himself.</p><p>-I chose not to include their battle, for I wasn't sure what kind of injury could cause two weeks long coma.<br/>I also couldn't calculate how far was New York and Fort George from the Frontier in the world of AC3, so my best guess was 3 weeks of traveling by horse. </p><p>I really hope somebody will enjoy this! ^^~<br/>Nothing belongs to me, I just play around with those amazing characters of this amazing game. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've begun to feel like home

_**30** _   
_**September** _   
_**1781** _

 

I could see them all: my father, my mother, Holden...Ziio.  
I feel like a mere madman when I read these words, but I know them to be true.  
I've seen my father, who now appears younger than me, putting his hand on my shoulder, “I've been waiting for so long to see you again, my dear boy.” his familiar Welsh accent echoing in my ears.  
Then I saw my mother, still beautiful and radiant as she was before the depression, caressing my cheek slowly, “I'm proud of you, Haytham.”.  
I even saw Holden, as cheerful as he was in his best years, “You've made it, sir!”.  
And then Ziio. My darling Ziio. Her eyes still loving and fiery as I remember them, opening her arms towards me.  
I began to run towards her, so fast that my lungs began to burn inside of me, but she only became farther and farther away, until the world came tumbling down and I woke up.  
As it were, I was in a dream state for 2 weeks, and moreover- still alive.  
I got up from the bed I was in, my head pulsing horribly inside my skull and my body hurting. The room I was in was bright and neat, decorated with elegant furniture.  
I approached the window and as I looked outside of it, I gathered that not only that I was no longer in Fort George, nor was I in the Colonies- I was in the Frontier, and that could only mean one thing.  
The door quickly opened behind me, and as I leaped over to attack the figure, my hidden blade clashed with another hidden blade, that belonged to no other then Achilles Davenport.  
I am not yet sure, even now, why I haven't killed him, but I hadn't.  
Instead I demanded, “Where am I, and who brought me here?” though I already quite knew the answer to the second question, as I recalled our fight at Fort George.  
"You are in my house.” Achilles replied with a deep resentment about him , as he left the food tray on the chest of drawers next to my bed, and turned his back to me. “I shall call Connor.” and left the room.  
Instead of doing what I clearly should have done at the time- killing the old assassin and escaping the manor, I sat back on the bed and began eating the roasted fish and cooked potatoes I've been given, satisfying my starving stomach.  
The following minutes my son has entered the room, wearing not his assassin's robes, but a simple beige outfit. “How are you feeling, father?” he asked.  
I put the tray aside, “Surprisingly undead.” I said and wiped the corners of my mouth with a napkin.  
He seem to sense my disappointment. “Why have you stayed your blade? What profit have you to keeping me alive? Not your foolish dreams of us working together towards peace I hope.”  
Connor carried a chair from the other side of the room, placed it in front of me, and sat down. “No, you made yourself crystal clear about it by trying to kill me, father.” he replied calmly.  
"Would you explain yourself to me then, boy?” I demanded.  
He then placed my lost journal on my lap and looked straight through me, the very way his mother did so many years ago. “I read it all, just like you wanted me, Haytham. I think you have led a miserable life, and I think you should have your chance to start another. Do as you wish with it. That's why I hadn't kill you back then in the fort.”  
We sat in silence for a minute, as an unfamiliar calmness fell upon me. By reading my journals Connor came to know me better than anyone else in my entire life, and he seem to...perhaps, accept me? “And what of Charles?” I asked, not quite looking at him.  
"Dead. The amulet is in a safe place.” he paused, “And its location will die with me.”  
"Keep it, you at the very least earned it .If he couldn't manage to kill you with all the time I earned him, he deserves his loss.” I said, with a very little sorrow for my long lost friend.  
"The funeral is arranged for tomorrow in New York, I thought you would want to know.” he said, perhaps somewhat suprised by my logical and cold approach to the death of my so called friend.  
“Much obliged. I supposedly don't have any reason to stay here any longer, do I?” I said simply, not letting my face betray any of my feelings.  
"As I knew you would. One of our horses is waiting for you outside, packed with food supply for the way.” Connor said simply, though his face gave away a certain sadness. Perhaps he expected me to thank him, or even say words of kindness and encouragement, as he truly deserved, but I simply could not.  
And so I packed my journal and washed myself of the dry blood and dirt from our last fight, and walked over to my new steed, who awfully reminded me of Scratch.  
As I saddled up, Connor approached me once again, “Fellow assassins in New York told me that there is a new Grand master in charge now, and that the Order confiscated your old mansion in favor of making an office out of it.”  
"I couldn't expect them to wait for my body to cool, could I?” I said with a surprising ted of ache in my heart. I did almost sacrifice my life for the good of the order, and I would have been dead if not for Connor. Perhaps I was expecting some honor.  
"In case you found yourself homeless, the Homestead will welcome you here. Farewell, Father.” he said quickly and turned on his heels.  
"Farewell, son.” I said quietly.

\--------

_**21** _   
_**October** _   
_**1781** _

 

Arriving finally to the messy, crowded New York, exhausted and sore from riding, I found my way to Fort George.  
Our guardians in the entrance greeted me with some shock, surely they have heard of my terrible death, which was utterly pleasing for some reason.  
Gladly, most of the place was in the process of being rebuilt, and there was almost no trail to the naval attack it suffered, so navigating around it was easier than I've imagined.  
Finding the fort's cemetery, I left my steed and continued on foot, moving from grave to grave.  
Finally, I located Charles' grave stone- a fine black stoned, with beautiful white script curved into it. I would have expected for a statue no less, but Charles did lose the Order's respect in the last months of his life, and expect us Templars to never be too attached to sentiment.  
There I was standing on his grave, talking to the wind. “Ah, Charles. I had hoped you would have outlived me at least. I remember how young and lively you were when we first met, how respectful and elegant. I find myself missing those days, when we were in good relations.  
But this is the way of the world, and people grow up and grow apart, and they die alone.”  
"But I do forgive you, Charles, and I hope you had forgiven me as well, and I thank you for all the years of service by my side. I am not yet sure if there is anything beyond the physical world, but if there is, I hope you will find peace.” I said with a lighter heart.  
I looked around me, and wondered if anybody heard me, talking like an old fool to a gravestone like I was. It was foolish of me, indeed, but there was something about it that relieved me.  
I am truly changing, aren't I?  
-  
-  
Later on, I asked around the fort, finding out exactly who was the new Grand master, and found my way to his private mansion.  
A young man met me at the entrance, barely in his late 20's, with bright lively blue eyes and black hair and a wide smile.  
"Master Kenway! I am William Stonam. What a sight for sore eyes you are! I was sure you were dead!” he shook my hand with enthusiasm and tapped on my shoulder. “Not yet, young man, not yet.” I replied coldly.  
"What can I do for you?” He asked as he led me to his office, walking confidently before me.  
The insides of this place were incredibly beautiful, decorated with the best of paintings and statues, the best of leather furniture and fur carpets.  
"Frankly, I would like to be relieved of my duty. I gathered I was not in any position to be of use to the Order, since I am already an old man, I haven't the set of skills I used to have.” I said with an honest look, but honest I was not. I might be older than some, but my body is as strong and agile as a man half of my age.  
"Oh, but it is such a shame! You were a truly great Templar knight, one of our very best, I've been told. Should I call an audience for a proper ceremony?” he lied with such warmness, that I could already tell he was about to become a very useful Grand master.  
"I thank you kindly, William. I am confident that the Order can continue to prosper and progress without me. And no need, truly, I rather keep it 'twixt us.” I said with real honesty this time and he nodded.  
"Should I leave my ring?” I asked before standing up.  
"You can keep it, Haytham. You earned it.” He smiled at me.  
"I see. Thank you, Grand master. May the father of understanding guide you.” I smiled back and relieved myself of the boy's radiant presence.  
I remember wondering if I had made the right decision, and if I was misguided by my own feelings. I hadn't changed my views on the Templar ways and their point of view on the world, no, I only know that after all these years of service in the Order, it does not longer serve **me**.  
I've grown tired of the constant lies and secrets, of killing in the name of some charismatic Grand master.  
I heard father's voice within me, asking whether I should join the Assassin's creed instead, but I have already had my share of assassinations and kills, and the amount of blood I spilled drained me. Those hands have tasted blood from the very age of 10, and I gather that after 46 years of killing, I might as well stop.  
-  
-  
Around midnight I climbed to my old office to retrieve my very few belongings : Jenny's letters, some souvenirs from my younger years, and the picture of my father and mother, and of course- the necklace Ziio made me 25 years ago. I was rather surprised that nothing was thrown away just yet, as I backed off the building in silence.  
At dawn, after sleeping in the closest guest house, I rode towards “New Colony Bank” in New York's center, and asked to extract all of my remaining money. If I was relieved of all of my previous titles, I was glad to be reminded that 'wealthy' was not one of them.  
Now, sitting on my horse, I realized that all I have left from the life I led was a ring, some money and no woman or man I love, to stand beside me.  
I remain, in fact, completely alone.

\------

_**18** _   
_**November** _   
_**1781** _

 

The road was sticky with mud and wet grass, as the wind blew loudly in my ears, and yet I was rather glad that the weather in the Americas was nothing alike the one we had in England in this time of the year.  
And here, I am back again to the Frontier. I didn't know how I mustered the courage to leave my previous life behind and come here, and how I never even once in the course of 30 days, tried to back off my decision to do so.  
This place felt nothing like the colonies, nothing like the big cities I used to live in, if it was London, Boston, New York, Althea or Celetná. It was still wild and free, and I came to enjoy it.  
Arriving to the Davenport Manor, I left my steed a couple of apples, and stood in front of the door. It began to rain once again, when I heard a noise coming from the back of the house. I found Connor, standing in front of a fresh dug grave, a dirty shovel laying to his feet. I needn't to see the name on the gravestone to know that it was his Achilles.  
I found myself standing next to him, both getting soaked in the merciless rain, staring at the gray gravestone.  
"I'm sorry, son." I said after a long 5 minutes.  
"Thank you." Connor said, not yet facing me, and I immediatly noticed that he was trying to hide his tears. He must have thought I might find weakness in that, and maybe even mock him, but I did not. When was the last time I cried? I couldn't recall.  
"He was a talented man, I heard quite a lot of him in his early years. He trained you well." I said gently.  
"He was a father to me." Connor replied, still very much emotional.  
"The father I never was." I found myself saying.  
"Yes." he admitted, with his known straightforwardness.  
"If only I could be a son to him. I was so focused on death, duty to my Brotherhood, and protection of my village, that I solmenly noticed that he wasn't growing any younger. I was only fighting him every time we spoke." he was suddenly opening up.  
"And yet, he cherished and loved you. I came to know of his history once I saw him on the day of your execution. Did you know that you were named after his son?" I said to his general direction.  
"I might have never been a true father, but I can recognize fatherly love when I come upon it." a smile escaped my lips. I was not used to the kindness and honesty I shown him.  
"I never knew." He looked back at me, rather touched by the discovery.  
"What is your real name, if I might ask?" I wondered.  
"Ratonhnhaké:ton."  
"Radun...haton?" Once again I tried my luck with a Kanien'kehá:ka name, to no end.  
"That's alright, you can call me Connor." He smiled at my struggle.  
By this time we were already wet to the bones but kept standing still, we were both through much worse than a little rain, after all.  
"I never thanked you for saving my life.” Connor admitted, referring to his failed execution.  
"I never thanked you for saving mine.” I replied, and I wasn't sure, but I think that Connor understood exactly what I meant, which had little to do with his failure to end me 2 months ago.  
He began walking to the direction of the entrance, “Do you intend to stay there all noon, father?” he called and I found myself following.  
-  
-  
I know that the path to becoming real father and son is a long one, since we both have each others blood on our hands, and since none of us have had a family before, but I will certainly try and take it nonetheless.  
And perhaps after all, in the age of 56, I finally find a little hope for the Kenway family.  
-  
-  
I hope that Ziio is smiling now, wherever she is.

 

**THE END**


End file.
